


famous last words

by colferstilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Boypussy, Crossdressing, Cybersex, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Internet, Light Somnophilia, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Derek, Premature Ejaculation, Sexting, Texting, TumblrFamous!Stiles, bareback, experienced stiles, online
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colferstilinski/pseuds/colferstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(No, he doesn't belong in porn anonymous—it’s not an addiction. It isn't, he swears.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically boypussy strafes away from all transgendered topics. Stiles is /not/ biologically female and identifies himself as a male. He /is/ a dude who just so happens to have biological female parts. It's all fictitious, there's no such thing in real life. Boypussies also /do/ have sub-categories, having just the female genitalia is not the only boypussy. There's no right or wrong types of boypussy, if it's your kink, it's yours. No harm, no foul. Boypussies include: Male with both female/male genitalia. Male with both female/male genitalia and also has the prostate/g-spot. Male with both female/male genitalia but only has a prostate. Male with both female/male genitalia but only has a g-spot. Or male with only female genitalia. Or male with female genitalia and prostate.
> 
> Really, anything goes with boypussies. If it gets you all hot and bothered in your loins, then you've found your type of boypussy!
> 
> re-edit: some readers are still confused which boypussy this story but stiles only has a vagina, that's it. nada on the prostate at all, all female working genitalia.  
> (for all you guys who have no clue what the fuck is a boypussy, GET READY FOR ME TO ROCK YOUR WORLD)

Derek isn’t the least bit ashamed of his porn collection. He’s actually quite proud of it.

It’s accumulated through the years. From way back when he was just hitting the first sprouts of puberty and he would steal his dad’s, Charles, Jenna Jameson tapes he hid in the basement to when he first torrented pornography.

It’s the only dirty secret he has.

Well… that and he used to use Laura’s razor to shave his pubes.

Derek likes having porn stashed in his thumb drive just in case he needs to tug one quickly before a meeting, or when he has morning wood that doesn’t dull itself, or you know, when he hasn’t gotten laid in months.

Like now.

(No, he doesn’t belong in a porn anonymous—it’s not an addiction. It isn’t, he swears.)

Yet lately, the porn itself hasn’t been cutting it for him. It often leaves him mildly satisfied even though he gets to achieve an orgasm at the end.

Maybe it’s because he has a fifty hours work week as a lawyer and hasn’t been able to seek out new jerking materials since six months ago and hell, nobody tells you about the paperwork that kills you at the end of each case.

He decides that enough is enough and calls Jackson, his secretary in the firm, and tells him he’s taking a personal day off and the head of department can go suck his dick if they object it. He doesn’t voice out the latter but it’s definitely implemented.

“Yes boss,” Jackson snorts and follows in a conceited tone. “Enjoy whacking one off.”

Idiots. _All of them._

“At least I have smooth hands. Can’t say that about you, can I?” Derek snarls because he puts the sass in class and then ends the call with a click.

-

He’s in the living hall of his two room apartment, lounging on the couch as he browses through the internet on his laptop, scoping around for fresh stuff. It hasn’t been going that productive until an hour in when he sees an image result at the bottom of the google search bar that has his throat _parched._

It’s a simple picture, nothing too elegant or hardcore.

He clicks on it and waits for it to blow up in its full size on the screen, humming appreciatively when it finally loads.

There are freckles dotting at the thighs, pale and lean that Derek can’t help but want to sink his teeth in them and her pussy is a flushed shade of pink—the kind of colour that remind him of _ripeness_. She’s wet at the folds as she spreads them apart with two bony fingers, nails trimmed and shined so prettily that Derek wants to pop them in his mouth and suckle on them.

Curious, he tracks the original source that links with that picture back to a blog on Tumblr

He’s heard about this… _Tumblr_ website from his colleagues—mostly offhanded comments about how it’s going to be the next Facebook.

The template of the blog isn’t too savvy that makes him cringe, just a black washed background that seats nicely without tension at the eyes. There’s a sidebar picture at the blog too, simple again, of just her legs.

They’re long with illuminating skin that bounces off from the light that contrasts so tastefully with the velvet stockings she has on that stops at the knee.

Derek has never had a leg fetish before but _god_ , he wants to thrust his cock in between her calves until he comes.

They just look _that_ delectable.

He continues to scroll down as he browses through the pictures until his jaw fucking _drops_.

That… isn’t a girl, or a woman.

It’s a boy—twink, his mind supplies—and he poses so artistically that Derek expects it to be some soft-core pornography website that’s managed by college students but it isn’t. Because that theory gets put in its place when the site loads up with more pictures, raunchier ones, that have him sitting on fat dildos, head tossed back as his neck pulls long and taut that has his cock fattening up.

It’s not uncommon to see boys with… pussies and Derek have never really found it to be one of the materials he would jerk off to. Now he’s most definitely rethinking it because he’s already dipping his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, ghosting them against the soft foreskin of his cock.

There’s one photoset that captures his attention, enraptures him actually.

The boy is sitting on the edge of a chair, highlighted brown hair that’s tousled messily in what Derek can only deem as the perfect sex hair, while his legs are spread apart like it was an invitation. He has pale skin and specks of moles that litter on small inches of skin from his cheek and down to his stomach.

He’s not scrawny—toned enough that he can see the stretch of wiry muscles on his frame. Derek wants to press his tongue against his body, map out his skin with saliva and sweat.

On him, he has a fairly modest designed black corset that bundles tight at his waist and purple laced panties that hangs on his crotch, a small wet stain at the centre of it.

Derek gulps thickly, headiness already swimming in his head as he starts to pull on his cock. He’s so hard—throbbing harder than when he first discovered the femdom section in porn—and his dick leaking at the tip, oozing dullish white pre-come in staccato streams.

He clicks on the next picture and is greeted with another wave of arousal that punches him in the abdomen.

The boy is in a different position now, bare ass facing the camera as one knee presses against the seat while the other’s on the ground, balancing him. His face is only half hidden but Derek can see the mischievous curl of his lips, smirking like it’s a secret.

His ass is… magnificent, round and fleshy at the center that Derek wants it to grind against his cock, feel the stickiness of sweat that clings on his ass crack as it ruts against him.

Derek pushes his boxers down to his thigh and spits into his palm then fucks into it.

He can’t even remember the last time he’s gotten this turned on so fast that his balls already feel so tight and sensitive with each thrust of his fist. His eyes are half-lidded but still opened enough to stare at the picture. To see that little pucker of a hole that’s stashed away in between his ass cheeks.

It’s a dusty colour of flesh, wrinkled and Derek comes so prematurely with the thought of eating him out there. Of sticking his tongue in between that little private area of this boy and licking away the remnants of soap and musk of his asshole.

He’s breathing heavily, heartbeat racing in his throat while the contentment of having a good orgasm settling easily in his bones.

After he cleans up, he creates a Tumblr account to follow the boy— _Stiles_ , apparently is his pseudonym, when he reads through the about me section of his blog—and then saves the two pictures on his desktop to jerk off to it later at night.

-

He’s been refreshing his dash for the past two days, anticipating for an update from Stiles but there hasn’t been a word from him since four days ago, which was the last time he posted something.

Derek doesn’t do disappointment and anxiousness so he decides to just get back into finishing his report. That’s when a little red (1) pop-ups beside the home logo of his dash.

He thinks he deserves a medal for refreshing his browser in less than one second.

_Have you missed me, my little Stilettos? Worry not! I’m finally back from vacation and with a little sweet surprise for all of you. ;)_

Derek bites his bottom lip hard when he sees the picture attached with the post.

Stiles looks sleep-mused like he got caught being naughty early in the morning while making breakfast. He’s bent over a table and has a well-worn oversized shirt that hangs off at his shoulders and it hitches just above the line of his ass, showing a little sneak peek of his pussy, well shaven and glinting in wetness.

He also thinks that Guinness records should give him a trophy for quickest erection ever.

-

It’s a month later and he’s been masturbating more than the average teenager. That’s most probably because he has a good stash of Stiles and his pussy saved on his phone that he browses through during lunch breaks at the office.

He can’t _help_ it.

Stiles is fresh, a raw wet dream that makes the simplest of position look erotic. It’s the way he holds himself in the pictures that Derek can’t shake off from or how his mouth forms into a smirk-like moan when he has something him, so round and lush, like he’s given permission to Derek to slide his cock in there and fuck his throat hoarse.

Derek may be spiralling a little.

Just a little.

-

The first time he’s unable to get it up is when Stiles makes a late night post with a quote, “ _I may have gotten myself into a… sticky situation._ ” And there’s a picture of him on his knees and a full load of come on his face, eyelashes sticking together in white.

Derek seethes and cringes at the same time—both emotions barrelling through him like a thunderstorm on a summer’s day.

That’s when he recklessly sends his first asks into Stiles’ inbox.

It’s short, maybe a little snappish and maybe coming on a little rude and strong but Derek just doesn’t like the idea—the fucking thought that someone gets to touch him. Someone that isn’t _him._ Despite the fact that he has no reign over Stiles’ personal life.

Because—you know, he’s basically a grey face on the internet.

_I like it better when you’re doing solo shots. Sticky or not._

He then slams his laptop close, scowling and heads to bed.

-

“Bad night?” Jackson asks curiously when Derek slams a stack of folders on his desk.

Derek exhales slowly through his nostrils. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“Wasn’t asking, boss.” Jackson rolls his eyes, making a face. “Just making sure. You do remember that the head is coming down to the office for inspection of the Grayson case later, right? I don’t think you being in a foul mood is going to better us in any way.”

Derek tries to go to his happy place. That apparently had come on his face yesterday night. “Shut up and start filing those reports away.” He grits. “Call Laura if you want rainbows for Ms Reyes. Now, if you’re quite finished. I’m going into my office.”

“Fine,” Jackson replies snappish. “I’ll call Ms Hale.”

“ _Great_ ,” Derek retorts sarcastically, grinning with too much teeth and then storms into his office.

-

When Derek finally gets through the entire day but not before Laura spent two hours harassing him in his office about his bad mood, he goes to boot up his laptop while loosening his tie while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

After he retrieves a bottle of chilled beer from his fridge, he slides onto his couch and takes three large gulps from it, wincing at the bitter bite on his tongue. When he finally manages to open up his browser, he sees a (1) beside the letter logo on his dash.

He quickly clicks on it.

Stiles replied him.

_Aw, sweetheart. Getting a little jealous? Don’t worry. I’ll make it all better. This one’s all for you. ;)_

Then it follows with a close-up picture of Stiles’ pussy. It’s nothing like he’s ever posted on his blog—it’s downright pornography just dabbed in a little filtering of a black and white template, not even going full out artsy.

He can see the grainy pricks of pubes peppering at the sides of his pubic mound and just a little tuft of hair sitting above his clit, like it was an impromptu picture and he hasn’t actually properly groomed himself for a photo. Then his vagina bares open, folds taut at the sides as it opens up to his entrance, sheened in wetness with two fingers in them.

Derek feels his mood take a whole three sixty degree change as he stutters out a breath.

_Fuck. You drive me crazy, Stiles._

He sends it and then contemplates a little before he sends another.

_I just hope that I’m the only one that has your attention._

Then he attaches a self-shot of his own self using the camera of his phone, uncaring that he probably has dark circles under his eyes or his tie is still hanging in a loose knot under his collar. Yeah, he just blames it on the equal amount of possessiveness and horniness that’s kept him on edge the entire day.

It’s a bad mix— _especially_ with Stiles.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Derek manages to have a little spare time to himself during his hectic schedule is when the Grayson case finally gets done a week later. It’s a juvenile case with a rich businessman that doesn’t understand monogamy and hence getting sued by both his wife and mistresses for emotional distress.

He still laughs sporadically while doing the paperwork.

When the clock strikes midnight, he decides to bail on the paperwork since his agitation has been building up and the quality of the report starts to falter. He takes the shortcut back to his apartment, goes to have a quick shower before he plops himself spread-eagle on the back.

Just when he’s about to doze off a couple minutes later, Stiles springs up on his mind and he groggily snaps his head up, head gaining clarity. He goes to drag his laptop off the desk in his room, places it in his lap as he starts it up.

He does a quick check-through of his emails, grimacing at the amount of junk and spam he has on penis enlargement deals (he doesn’t need it, okay?) before he opens up a tab on Tumblr.

There are no alerts beside his inbox which means Stiles didn’t reply to him. Derek feels a little tug in his chest, something that feels a lot like disappointment. It’s not like he wasn’t…expecting it but there’s something about aggressive musings and reality based facts.

Ignoring the drop of his mood, he scrolls through his dash and slowly browses through the new pictures Stiles have been posting the last few days. Most of them are in black and white but still pulls off the raw sensuality and sharp elegance that Derek has gotten accustomed to with Stiles’ portrayal of his physicality.

There’s one picture, posted about four days ago, of where Stiles is completely naked on the bed, back facing to the camera with the broad length of his shoulders a smattering of freckles and moles as he sits in a pretzel style.

Derek gusts a large exhale out, completely taken by it because it’s so… _different._ So guarded and bare that he wants to crawl into his screen to be beside Stiles, hold him in his arms and give him the moon.

He makes it as his new wallpaper on his phone.

Derek’s just about to switch off his laptop when he does a double take as soon as he sees there’s a video at the bottom of his dash that’s posted by Stiles just a week ago. He’s never done a video. Not that Derek is aware of.

He’s only gotten fifty pages back on his blog but there’s about three hundred dating before it.

Hesitantly, he clicks on it, heart seizing in his throat as he waits for it to load up.

The lights of the video flickers a little at the beginning when Stiles walks into frame of the camera. Derek finds himself unable to breathe, cold sweat forming in beads at his temples because he’s seeing him in motion for the first time, watching the way his limbs sway in coordination with every minute movement he makes.

It’s opposed to what Derek’s used to which is still imagines that are being captured during throes of passion. It’s bizarre and he thinks that the pedestal that he had subconsciously put Stiles on shatters because the guy he’s watching is exactly like him—human, moving, breathing and so… _normal_ instead of just being a person that just masturbates all the damn time.

“Hello my little Stilettos,” Stiles greets warmly, eyes crinkling as he smiles. His voice is honey smooth, confident and alluring—the type of voice that Derek knows he’ll never get bored of hearing. “Yes, I know I haven’t done one of…these in a long time but fret not, here I return!”

“Actually,” He starts and his voice dips an octave lower. “The reason I’m making this video is because of a…certain _someone_. Not a special significant in my life but—he’s definitely got my attention. So, here I am, stating boldly that yes. You’ve got it. You know who you are.” And _winks_ at the camera.

Derek thinks he might be hyperventilating because his heart is yammering against his ribs and there’s sweat pooling at the dips of his back.

Stiles _did_ receive his message. He’s read it, saw his picture and is actually replying to it.

Jesus Christ.

“This is for you.”

Stiles smirks and then lifts himself off the seat until his head and neck gets cut off the frame. Then, he slowly curls his fingers into the hem of shirt, an off shoulder tee that shows off his collarbones nicely. He starts to tug it off in a fluid, tantric movement—like a sensual strip tease and Derek feels his cock twitching against the cotton feel of his pyjamas shorts.

The first to be revealed is his happy trail, a thin stretch of fine hair that leads just below his naval, then the curve of his rib bones, veiled under his pale skin and trimmed muscles. His nipples are a dusty tan colour, button-like and hard at the nubs.

“I’ve always got very sensitive nipples—love playing with them. Feeling them roll in between my fingers until I start to arch up into the touch.” Stiles says quietly in the video feed, so soft that Derek almost misses it.

He pries the shirt off once they’re up to his armpits and tosses it behind his shoulders before he leans forward, angling the camera a few inches down so that it’s showing the full length of the chair that he was sitting.

The same chair that he sat on in the pictures that first time Derek used them to jerk off.

Stiles slides back onto the chair and the camera manages to catch his entire body in the frame, with just a little hint of his lips and jawline. Derek scans his body over and is unable to keep his eyes at one portion of skin for long before it gets greedy, wanting to explore more areas that he hasn’t looked at yet.

He’s wearing a pair of stark red boxer shorts, bright and flashy, moulding to every curve of his private part. It contrasts so pleasantly against his skin, like a forbidden fruit—like a damn virgin.

Derek pulls his shorts off brusquely, unlike Stiles with his air of sensuality and fluidity. His are jerky and rough, impatient to have his hand on his cock and to start stroking it to release some of the tension that has been building under his balls.

When he finally gets a hand on his dick, palm clammy with sweat and with a too tight grip, his eyes _flutters_ from that first touch.

Stiles, on the other hand, are expertly pinching his nipples with one hand and the other is roaming against the expanse of skin against his stomach, feeling and dragging his nails against it. His breath hitches each time when his fingers brush against the sides of his waist, back arching a little to emphasize.

He looks so good like as if he practices touching himself in different places of his body all the time to know exactly which areas are sensitive enough to get him to make that sound. The wet catch of breath in his throat that makes Derek’s cock throb so painfully in his hand that he has to lean over to grab the bottle of lube he stashes in his bedside table.

“Can you see this?” Stiles purrs hotly, licking his lips, teeth catching a little on his bottom lip while he cant his hips up a little, showing off the hard shape of his pubic mound under his boxer shorts. “See how wet I am for you? How ready my cunt is? Do you think I’m ready for your fat cock?”

Derek groans loudly and unashamed while he’s staring at that wet spot, a stain of dark that spreads around the center of his underwear. He’s soaked, with the thought of Derek while he does this—it’s him that’s making Stiles this turned on.

His cock throbs in his hand, flushed and purpled with arousal at the head that’s sheened with pre-come.

“Do you want your fingers inside me?” Stiles asks. “Want to prepare me before I ride you? Is that it?”

“Yes—” Derek grits, panting, and god, he’s so fucking aroused—so hard. He wants to fuck Stiles’ cunt. Wants to plough his thick cock inside that wet warmth of a cunt and drives it in so deep that Stiles would scream his name, hand scrabbling against his shoulders as he fucks, and fucks, and _fucks_.

Stiles pushes the boxers down under his ass and slowly lift his legs up in a tantalizing manner, lips smirking so sure and cocky as he slides it off. Then he spreads his legs, inches them apart slowly and Derek is _salivating_ , anticipating for the expose of his pussy.

It’s gorgeous as how Derek remembers in the picture that Stiles sent him—even better actually because he hasn’t touched that little curl of pubic hair. He’s unshaven still and the lips of his vagina are glinting with wetness, clit a bruised red as it lightly pokes out under the hood.

“You want to touch me here?” Stiles croons, fingers lightly grazing against his labia and clit, dragging the fluids of his arousal against his clit. “Wanna make me… _scream?_ ”

Derek is fucking his cock into both of his hands, both slicked with lube and his pre-come and his hips are thrusting so erratically like as though he’s trying to chase the heat of Stiles’ pussy. He’s also grunting, making rough noises through his nose and there’s nothing he wants to do but claw his way through his laptop and to be there, beside Stiles, satisfying him— _pleasuring_ him with fingers, tongue and cock.

Stiles presses two fingers into his entrance, just a tip of his first knuckle before he slides them out and then pops in his mouth, humming in a way that makes Derek downright _jealous_. He wants to know how Stiles taste—wants to know if it’s a heavy sweetness or a light salty after bite that’s tinged with sweat.

Then when he’s done sucking away the taste of his lubrication, he inches his fingers back against his pussy, palm cupping against his pubic mound before he slides two fingers in so smoothly, wetly. Stiles moans, head tossing back as his body welcomes the insertion.

“Fuck—” Stiles stutters a breath out. “Love it when you push it in so suddenly—taking my breath away. You just know how to turn me on, don’t you? Getting me wet so quickly and then stealing away all my inhibitions like as though I’ve gotten drunk from you touching me like this? You like it, don’t you? Like making me feel like a King?”

“God, yes.” Derek hisses, fondling his balls as he twists his hand against the head of his cock. “Wanna make you feel so— _so_ good.”

Stiles is pumping his fingers inside him, the slap of skin and slick echoing so obscenely that Derek wants to remember it forever while his other hand are circling against his clit, rubbing it furiously as he works himself into an orgasm.

“That’s it,” Stiles chokes out, hips gyrating with each jab of his fingers into his cunt. “Just like that. A little faster—deeper, _oh god._ Yeah, just like that—”

Derek’s so fucking blown out with horniness that he starts biting onto his lips, jerking his cock into the tight fist he’s making and then when Stiles makes this sound—this moan that rumbles out from his chest as though he just grazed that sweet spot in his pussy—he comes all over his fingers.

He’s straining his neck back, eyes clenched shut as his dick throbs, pulsing in his hand with each spurt of come while he hears the tinny of Stiles coming in the video—a high pitched keen that trails off until there’s a series of heavy panting that follows, swallowing large breaths of air as he rides his orgasm out.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek exhales, eyes glazed off as he continues watching Stiles fuck the last twitches out of his pussy, entire body shaking before he finally slumps back into the chair, panting.

Stiles takes a few seconds to catch his breath, sliding his fingers out from his pussy and then cleans it off against his skin before he finally edges front of the seat so that his whole face is back into the frame.

“I just came so hard,” Stiles grins and his eyes look a little dazed. “I hope you’re still watching—and if you are, send me a picture of your happy ending.” Then the video feed cuts off there and Derek is staring back at the still image of Stiles’ face, a spent smile on his lips.

Derek leans over and grabs his phone at the bedside table, snaps a picture of the come all over his hands and the bits that are starting to crust at his pubes and in between the folds of his foreskin on his flaccid cock.

He goes to wash up then quickly heads back to his back to send it.

 _I’ve never came so hard in my life. All this come is for you, my beautiful boy. Sorry that it’s a little overdue, been caught up at work. Rest well._  
  
—Derek

_-_

The next day, Stiles makes a post early in the morning—no pictures, nothing else, just a sentence.

_Had your name on my lips, begging._

Derek smiles the entire time he’s at work and Jackson shoots him a weird look all day.

“You look like you just got laid,” Jackson comments and then stifles a laugh. “Or, better yet, as though cupid shot you stupid with a love arrow.”

Derek’s grin wanes for just two seconds before he smiles more wolfishly. “Do I need to fire you so that you’ll stop doing commentary on my life?”

“ _Jeez_ ,” Jackson says defensively. “Take a joke, man.”

Derek doesn’t have enough care in the world to retort back and continues smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek’s frustrated about work and it’s a goddamn _Sunday_.

It’s a day where he’s supposed to be _not_ working. Where he finally gets to kick back with a chilled beer after a long week and shout random insults at the television as he watches obtuse assholes make bad decisions on reality series.

 _Instead,_ he’s digging fingers into his scalp as he rifles through stacks of paper that are being spread out on his desk at home. The reason why he’s about neck high in bullshit is because some _intern,_ whom he didn’t hire,completely messed up the paperwork for the current case he’s handling.

It’s a heavy legal case too, against the head of a corporate industry that’s suing his client for slander because she finally decided to file a proper lawsuit against him for sexual harassment and rape in the workplace that’s been happening for the past three years.

Derek may actually be losing his sanity because— _because_ the fucking intern messed up the paper trail for his client’s report to human resource in regards to her first complaint about him and that was their secret weaponry for court.

He stares at the papers, gives up and calls his sister.

“Laura,” Derek whimpers, exhausted. “I need your help—this fucking _shithead_ came in just last week and just—god. She went and did _this!_ I can’t believe it. I’m so out of my league here and like—”

“Jesus.” Laura breathes out, annoyed. “Firstly? Greeting people when you give them a call is a norm. Where are your damn manners? Also, calm the fuck down and use your words. _Properly._ I didn’t even catch what you just blabbered about.”

“I _can’t!_ ” Derek exclaims, smacking his forehead against the keyboard of his laptop repeatedly. “I’m in deep shit. Because of an _intern_. I need your help. Actually, I may even need higher forces of help right now because I’m going to get my client bankrupt and have the company lose so much money if I don’t retrieve the necessary data in the next. Four. Days. So _excuse me_ for not starting without a stupid hello.”

He can practically hear the eye roll she’s giving him through the line.

“You’re such a drama queen.” Laura huffs out. “ _Fine._ Mail me what you’ve got and I’ll see if I can help you with anything. I’ll do my best with the paralegal magic.”

“ _Oh god_ —thank you, Lou.” Derek gusts out. “I’m going to buy you dinner. Fuck. I’ll buy all your meals for the whole of next week. Anywhere in the world. Just name it.”

Laura snorts. “Hey, look at it this way. If you get fired, you should definitely consider Broadway as a next career path.” The call then ends with a click.

Derek scowls. Wasn’t she _just_ talking about manners?

-

After Derek sends all the documents he has in his possession to Laura’s email address, he slouches back into the seat and tries to catch his breath while rolling around the idea of firing Jackson. It was Jackson that encouraged his buddy, Mahealani, a newcomer to the firm, to hire the intern.

His life expectancy has definitely been shortened by the stress Jackson creates all the damn time.

Derek’s grumbling under his breath as he opens up his browser, wanting to check on Stiles before he crashes on his bed for a short nap. He’s been actively pursuing the case ever since his client stormed into the office, yelling with a scratchy voice and demanding for the best lawyer in the firm to ‘catch that son of a bitch’.

Yeah. Broadway sounds good now— _heavenly_. It’s less stressful and he has a chance to parade around in tights instead of itchy suits that he spends a hefty amount on dry-cleaning, also, _no Jackson._

Hell. He might even draw a big smiley face on his resignation letter.

Derek’s snorting at the idea of prancing around on stage when he notices a post that Stiles just made minutes ago. Surprised, he quickly reads and it writes: ‘Entertain me. Excite me. Arouse me.’ Then there’s a click-through link on the words.

Without hesitance, he clicks on it and a new tab pops open with a page on a live stream website.

Warily, he reads the chat on the right of the page that’s springing up with new messages every second that has Derek grimacing. They’re downright crude and Derek has half a mind to close the chat so that he can just avoid knowing that these people are jerking off to his Stiles— _no_ , Stiles.

Just Stiles. Not his.

Because he’s a lawyer and entitling ownership on people is slavery which Derek wrote a thesis paper on it when he was an undergraduate at Harvard. So, yeah, definitely not his. But…that doesn’t mean he can’t be _possessive_ over Stiles.

That’s not against the law.

The video feed on the left is grainy, unlike the quality that Stiles had captured on that video two weeks ago. The backdrop is just of Stiles’ bed that’s covered with a new set of sheets that Derek hasn’t seen before in pictures—a dull russet colour with gold trimmings and eggshell pillow cases.

There are static noises in the background before Stiles finally appears, jumping into the frame. Yeah, he actually pounces onto the bed, face diving first into the sheets and Derek’s heart _stutters._ He gives up—Stiles is both equal amounts of sexy and adorable.

“Hello my sexy Stilettos,” Stiles says, grinning and how is it even possible that he looks even… _better_ than just a week ago? There’s a kind of familiarity now that Derek’s accustomed to with Stiles—the fluid animation of his limbs and the same voice that he’s been jerking himself raw.

“Wow,” He rushes out and sounding a little thrilled as he edges forward a little on his bed, eyes so bright. “Look at the viewer count! It’s slowly climbing. Aw, you guys really do love me.” He hides a giggle behind his hand and it tingles down Derek’s spine.

Stiles is right about that though.

He has about hundred and four viewer and it’s increasing every few minutes by tens that Derek does not—absolutely does _not_ —roll his eyes at. Instead, he goes to open up the chat and types in a pseudonym before he types.

 **DerekH:** Hello Stiles.

Derek waits for a few seconds before he watches the recognition start to slowly unveil on Stiles’ face., when he slowly drops his jaw open and eyes glazing past the corner of the camera before he snaps them back, smirking.

He knows then that the smile is just for him and not for the rising hundred and twenty viewers in the chat room—just him.

“Hello you,” Stiles purrs and props his chin onto his hands. “Now I’m starting to think that you’re getting bored of me, handsome. I’ve missed you.”

 **DerekH:** _Work’s been a killer and I only just gotten some time off. Missed you too_.

It feels a little weird admitting that amongst the group of people in the chat who are spamming that they want to see Stiles’ pussy, demanding that they get some action or they’d leave. Well, they can fuck off.

Stiles beams, teeth showing and eyes twinkling with the fluorescent light that Derek is scrabbling to take a screen shot but misses it by a few seconds because he’s already starting to shimmy his shirt off and leaving him with just a pair of black lingerie that barely covers his crotch.

Derek makes a despondent grunt because the video quality is really bad and Stiles looks a little too pixelated on the stream—he hates it. It’s at a point where he can’t even see the individual smatter of moles on his body that he so adores.

“Never done this live before,” Stiles chuckles and shifts around so that he’s lying sideways against his arm on the bed. “I may need some… friendly suggestions. Maybe on what you want me to do? Do you just want to watch me play with myself? Or… _more?_ ”

**DerekH:** _You’ve mentioned about sensitive nipples the last time. Maybe…_

Derek accidentally presses enter and then grumbles because _wow_ —he even fails virtually.

“Maybe…?” Stiles continues, raising a brow. “You want me to touch them?”

**DerekH:** _Yes. Would you do that for me, beautiful?_

“Of course,” He replies smoothly, face softening into a secretive smile. “Anything for you.”

Stiles then slowly ghosts his palm against the side of his body, fingers fluttering against the expanse of skin and muscles before he captures two fingers onto the nub of his left nipple. He spreads them apart and then squeezes it close, snatching out a dry, pleased hum out from his throat.

He twists them expertly until he’s making soft choked up noises before he pops two fingers into his mouth, lathering the tips until they’re dribbling with saliva before he presses them down onto the light bruised nipple, slicking them well.

“Nobody ever does this—” Stiles sighs and sounding debauched already. “—the slow build up. Exploring inches of my skin. They just want to fuck me right away. But not you.” He says, arching up into the touch, tactile and erotic. “You want to make me slowly fall apart, don’t you? Watch me sob out, _pleading_ with your name?”

**DerekH:** _God, Stiles._

Derek’s cock is tenting against his sweatpants, a thick line that’s curved against the dip of his thigh. There’s also a small wet stain of pre-come showing against the gray cotton of it.

**DerekH:** _My cock has never gotten like this before—always so hot with arousal. You’re the reason for making me feel like a damn teenager. Always hard, always coming._

“ _Fuck_.” Stiles keens and it’s like that noise actually connects to a nerve ending in his cock that makes it twitch. “I wanna touch myself so badly. Please tell me I can touch myself. I can already feel the wetness of my pussy against the insides of my thighs.”

**DerekH:** _Touch yourself for me, Stiles._

Derek presses the heel of his palm against his crotch, relieving the warm tension that’s curling at the base of his cock.

**DerekH:** _Show me how good I could make you feel if my fingers were on you. Inside you._

Stiles pries off his panty with no real finesse, impatient and jerky and lets it drop beside him on the bed. He then digs his heel onto the edge of the bed, falling onto his back and then spreads his legs wide apart for the camera, pussy in full view.

He’s gone bare again and the pale insides of his thigh contrasts so favourably with the flushed pink of his blood engorged pussy lips.

Derek wants to sink his face in between his legs and eat him out—wants to tease the sensitive nub of his clit with his flattened tongue until Stiles is humping against his mouth, shouting with velvet pleasure.  

**DerekH:** _Finger yourself for me, my beautiful boy. Just one finger._

Stiles makes a noise of acknowledgement and then clutches onto the fleshy parts of his thigh, digging nails into it before he cups both hands against his vagina, bucking against it. He then dips one hand a little lower, spreading apart his ass cheeks while the other starts to slather around his lubrication against the folds of his pussy.

He’s teasing it, caressing the puffiness of his labia before he plunges a finger inside him, back arching as he mewls unashamedly.

Derek makes a choked up noise and then presses hard against the twitching of his cock under the sweat, trying to prevent an orgasm that’s already sparkling at the base of his dick. He’s almost afraid of touching him this time—that he may come too fast to enjoy Stiles in a surreal headiness.

“ _Oh my god_ —” Stiles whimpers, pulling his fingers out just an inch before he thrust it back in. He bucks into it, going in imperfect circles inside the walls of his cunt, moaning. “Can you hear how wet I am for you? Because I am. _I’m so wet._ ”

Derek knows because he can hear the sloppy sounds of pussy slick ringing through the tinny of his speakers and it barrels into him like the gush of pre-come leaking at the top of his cockhead, warm and aching.

**DerekH:** _That’s right. Open yourself up for me. Can you do that for me? Prep yourself for my cock?_

“Ungh, yes, _yes!_ ” Stiles sobs out, pressing another inside him and the squelch of wetness from the stretch and two fingers scissoring inside makes Derek start to squirm in his chair, hand already gripping even tighter around his cock.

He watches how Stiles’ thigh start to close up whenever his fingers manages to graze that spot inside him—the one that gets him to arch his back and quivers out a fledged out moan that has Derek clutching onto the fabric of his pants, trying to not close his eyes to miss anything.

**DerekH:** _Want you to ride my cock, Stiles. Want your pussy to milk my cock with your slick._

Stiles’ body shakes as he slides his fingers out, cleaning them onto his sheets as he twists his body with a dancer’s flexibility. He goes out of the frame for a few seconds and returning with a glass shaped dildo—a little tapered at end and then curves into little indentations in the middle.

Derek wonders how that’ll feel inside Stiles—if it would press against the walls of his vagina, digging into every crevice that is begging to be touched—and if it’s his favourite toy.

“I was fucking myself on this, begging for you, that day.” Stiles confesses daringly, eyes locked straight into the camera as he kneels on the bed. Derek remembers that post—the one that made his stomach lurch into his throat. “In this same spot, riding on this while imaging you were under me, fucking into my cunt.”

**DerekH:** _Show me._

Stiles shifts around on the bed until he finally finds a spot that he’s comfortable at where the camera manages to capture his entire frame—lean and taut, muscles stretching under the light sheen of sweat and light. Then he positions the dildo in between his legs, one hand supporting it while the other is in his mouth, suckling on it.

He traces it against the lips of pussy, wets the shaft of it with his lubrication before he circles it against his clit, gently teasing it before he dips it down.

**DerekH:** _Fuck me._

Stiles thrusts it inside him smoothly, body lurching front as he welcomes the intrusion with a moan, eyes clenching shut. He catches his breath, withdraws it an inch before he plunges it in deeper, head tossing back.

The long stretch of neck distracts Derek, watching the veins pop under the thin layer of skin as he starts to slowly drag the soaked cloth of his pants against his cock. The little stain from before has darkened, spreading around a larger area and Derek imagines that it’s Stiles’ pussy juice as he rubs his vagina against the bulge of his tent, dry-humping him.

Stiles is a vision on the video feed— _god_. He gave up trying to thrust the dildo a minute ago and started to ride on it, hands and legs supporting his entire weight as he gyrates his hips deeper, fucking himself.

“Oh fuck—need you to make me come.” Stiles pants out, chest heaving hard with each word. “Please make me come. I can’t take it anymore.” Then he breaks off with a whimper when one of his hands starts to rub against his clit.

**DerekH:** _Been watching you the whole time, Stiles and I haven’t even touched myself but I already feel like I’m about to come. Do you want me to come? Want me to come in that ripe little pussy of yours?_

Stiles’ furious pace stutters after he reads Derek’s words, sweat rolling off at his temples. He clenches his eyes close for a quick second and then opens them, eyes so dark that they’re eating out the browns of it.

“Yes,” Stiles murmurs and Derek is simply pressing a light pressure against the head of his cock, feeling the slick stickiness of his pre-come against the sensitive area of his dick. “I want you to come inside me, Der— Oh fuck me— _please_ fill me up. I want it so bad.”

Derek hears the blood bursting in his ears when he comes prematurely in his pants, eyes slamming shut as he thrusts his hips upwards and palm milking out of his orgasm as he paints his pants drenched with his orgasm.

When it finally feels like he’s not floating outside of his body, spent to the last drop, he realizes that the video stream has ended and the chat room is filled with angry complaints.

 **Boypussycumpie69:** _Wtf? Whr did Stiles go? I was juz abt 2 cum_

 **Juicyclit:** _WTF_

**Bigc0ckh0rnib0i:** _fk this shit gna go jerk off to his porn vids_

Derek sits in his chair, albeit confused for a few minutes when the come starts to dry in his pants and it feels way too uncomfortable to let it sit any longer. He then waddles into the bathroom then returns back to his desk to close the live stream tab, returning back to his original Tumblr dash to refresh the page.

There’s a (1) beside his inbox and when he checks it, the message is from Stiles.

_I almost moaned out your name so I had to cut the stream off to finish off. I hope you weren’t disappointed, Derek._

Derek furrows his brows and quickly types back a reply.

_I wasn’t. I’m not. You were… breath-taking, to say the least. My beautiful boy._

Stiles returns back a response less than two minutes later.

_I’m glad : ) I, um, hope I’m not stepping out of line here and I don’t normally…do this, or well, ask this. But is there someplace else that I can reach you? Skype? Your phone? I hate not being able to talk to you when you get caught up with work :/_

Derek almost sprains a wrist muscle from typing his cell phone number in record breaking time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll proof-read this chapter later uwu but holy moly, all the comments you guys left in the previous chapter made me gush like a teenage girl  
> thank you all of you lovelies and Stiles say hi to all you Stilettos! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little late to update because the chapter wasn't coming out the way i wanted to in the beginning but then it flowed.... like stiles' wet vagina
> 
> also, I apologise for any wrong perceivings during a trial case or law or yknow, everything to do with Derek's work. And the typos. Im sick *sniffs*
> 
> probably two more chapters to go! ;) ready up them vibrators, girls and boys

The week that follows after they trade numbers, Derek exchanges a fairly ridiculous amount of texts with Stiles. Well, considering that Derek is a goddamn adult with a full time job and a hot case nipping at his heels—yeah… ridiculous would be an understatement.

He juggles them equally though. Okay, he’s more biased with replying Stiles immediately whenever his phone beeps with a new message but the higher bosses in the firm don’t need to know that.

Derek quickly learns that Stiles is twenty five, four years younger than him, with a community degree in mass communication. He’s not even the least bit surprised by that because it’s _Stiles_ —sexy, enigmatic and breath-taking.

He’s also working part-time in a soft-core erotica private studio that he’s managing with his best friend in California. It’s where they do more of the professionalized photo shoots with Stiles when they deem the space in his apartment isn’t big enough for the scene.

Derek already hates California by default because, well, he’s not in it.

Stiles also likes peanut butter, the regular type because _‘If I wanted to go all out with nuts, I’d rather it be with someone’s balls in my mouth. Preferably yours but that goes without saying’,_ and that he has a deep-rooted relationship with fried potatoes.

Derek laughs, feels that fondness for Stiles coiling heavily at the base of his stomach with each text, and tells him that he hates heavy liquor, scotch especially, and that if the bartenders wouldn’t judge him, he’d open a tab with just cosmos.

Stiles replies that he snorted out the jumbo juice he’s drinking.

Derek grins.

-

“Have you retrieved the fax that Laura sent?” Derek yells from inside his office, buttoning up his blazer as he walks out. “She said it’d reach in ten.”

“Got it,” Jackson says, handing him a thin folder. “Your juice, boss.”

Derek stifles his laughter and damn it, Stiles definitely has been rubbing off too much on him. “Just—repeat that in your head before you speak again.”

Jackson scowls, not finding it amusing the least. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Oh, I don’t know. Court, maybe? Delivering justice?”

Derek smirks, “That scumbag isn’t going to know what hit him.”

He only takes a few steps and reaching the elevator when he hears Jackson sourly muttering, “Hopefully it’s not your juice.”

Derek counts to ten and tries to remember the reason he hired Jackson.

-

**(14:27)**  
 _Headed to court for that big case so I might not be able to reply you as quickly but I won’t be long. Promise. Also, Jackson made a subconscious comment about my come and I called him out. Are you proud of me?_

**(14:31)**  
Look at you, my butterfly. Nah, it’s no problem. I’m just about to finish a shoot with Scott. Today’s theme is latex and leather.

**(14:37)**  
 _Oh._  
 **(14:37)**  
 _What are you wearing right now?_

**(14:31)**  
You’re naughty.

**(14:41)**  
 _And you’re a tease._

**(14:45)**  
If it makes it any better, I just started touching myself with the thought that you’re in your suit.

**(14:51)**  
 _Fuck. Stiles. I can’t go into court with my cock hard._

**(14:52)  
** Then you most definitely wouldn’t want to know that I’m already starting to get wet.

Derek has less than ten minutes before the doors to the court room closes and he’s hiding in a cubicle of the toilet, half-mast cocking pressing against the zipper of his dress pants while his mind flows unfairly with imageries of Stiles laying on a bed, spread out and flushed.

The tight fabric would look so good on him, wouldn’t even matter which colour it’d be. His nipples would peak from beneath like two hard nubs that sits like sin that Derek is sure he wouldn’t be able to jerk his eyes away from.

It’s the surest of hard torture (pun intended) and he has to go into court with _that_ in his mind.

Damn it.

**(14:55)**  
 _You’re so bad for me. So bad. Gotta teach you a lesson later, don’t I?_

**(14:57)**  
You can spank my pussy. It definitely needs a lot of punishment.

Derek whimpers, foregoing replying Stiles because he knows it’s going to come back and bite his ass if he does and readjusts himself. He grips himself roughly against the line of his cock that’s showing through his pants and gives a few tugs before he stops.

It’s not enough, thinks that anything to do with Stiles is never going to ever be sufficient but it has to make do before he rushes out of the toilet.

He’s panting when he bursts into the courtroom with a couple of seconds to spare and his briefcase is swinging in between his fingers. He slides into the seat, gives a brief nod at Laura whom he made second chair for the case and grunts sourly under his breath when most of the jury aren’t even settled in.

“Nice dramatic entrance, baby bro.” Laura whispers, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Remember my suggestion.”

“Shut up,” He scowls. “—and win this case for us.”

“ _Please_ ,” Laura cackles, twirling her pen around with ease. “I’ve the jury wrapped around my pretty manicured fingers.”

Derek is just about to retort something completely witty like they look like demon claws when his phone vibrates against his thigh. He discreetly slides it out despite knowing its Stiles but hey, horniness can make the smartest people lose their heads.

 **(15:04)**  
Update. There are handcuffs now. And a vibrator.

Derek groans, pawing at his face. He takes it all back.

Stiles is the worst.

“Calm the crazy train, Der.” Laura jabs at him, smiling politely when one of the security guards walk by her. “The trial hasn’t even started. You gotta keep your head cool. Do that whole hipster keep calm bullsnap.”

Derek almost wants to scoff out a pained laugh because the south part of his head is anything but cool. Instead, it’s already heating up with the familiar twist of arousal, coiling around the base of his shaft like pricks of blood are being shot into his cock to make him _even_ harder.

He discreetly slides his briefcase onto his lap, thanking deities that today’s trial is all on Laura because she likes delivering the climax (such a bad choice of word—horrible) during a trial while Derek’s more of a closing man.

**(15:09)**  
 _Jesus christ. Do you know how painful it is to have an erection with suit pants? Because it is. Stop tempting me with images of you fucking a vibrator or I’ll make good on your word with that punishment._

**(15:11)  
** That’s so hot. You. In court. With a hard-on. It shouldn’t be that hot but it is. Fuck. ****  
(15:13)  
You should, regardless. Punish me. I’m being such a bad, needy boy. Need you to wreck my pussy with your spankings.  
 **(15:17)**  
It’s inside me—on full blast. I can feel it buzzing everywhere, Derek. Shit.

Derek exhales loudly through his nose and tries to tap into the court hearing. It’s already started a few minutes ago and the defendant is stating their qualms to the judge and jury that Judith’s claim, his client, against the big boss is a load of shit, raising his voice petulantly like a kid.

His cock is aching almost painfully now, swollen with the urge to be stroked until he stops feeling like he’s being stretched too thin with arousal. His mind serves him an onslaught of images of Stiles—him grunting while he ride against the thrum of the vibrator, hands cuffed behind him and all he can do is just… _take_ it.

He strains the briefcase down a little harder against his thigh, lets it dig against his cock while he bucks his hips up and tries to soothe the twinge his cock has been building up.

It doesn’t do much and knows that at this point even his hand wouldn’t make much a difference, thinks that it could only be relieved by sinking into Stiles’ pussy. Have his warmth gushing all around his cock, walls clenching hard as he fucks into the sweet heat until he drains out of come.

**(15:26)**  
 _Wanna fuck you. Want you bent over as I take your sweet cunt._

**(15:25)  
** Fuckinh Detrelk I

Derek takes a deep breath and holds in the orgasm that is at the tip of his cock. He’s leaking profusely with urging pre-come and that he’s probably sure that it’s going to stain through his briefs but the knowledge of Stiles probably losing it right _now_.

_Fuck—_

His body would be tremoring with the aftershocks of his orgasm, breath shaky with his head tossed back while he groans out Derek’s name.

“Hey,” Laura pokes him softly at his arm. The defendant is currently questioning one of their presented key witnesses with a smug tone that Derek almost gets his cock to lose a little erection. “You doing okay? You look like you’re constipating.”

Well, that gets him to half-mast.

“M’ okay.” Derek grits, cold sweat beating at his temples and also noting the clamminess at his armpits. “Just—was feeling a little hot.”

“No shit.” Laura says, snorting quietly. “You’re sweating.”

“Give me a minute and I’ll be okay.” Derek assures and goes to think about all the worst things in life that would make his cock shrivel up into his body. His parents having sex. Laura having sex. Stiles having sex— _with someone that isn’t him._

Well, that does it nicely.

-

After the trial finishes and the people have slowly filed out of the court house, Laura has a shit-eating grin as they walk out, arm looping around Derek’s.

The hearing actually went pretty fantastic— _after_ his dick decides to cooperate and stop twitching in his pants with a painful case of blue balls. Laura actually brought her A game in theatrics (and she was the one recommending Broadway, ha!) doing this dramatic twirl and a guilty finger pointing thing at the head corporate after she produced the paper evidence of Judith’s first complain report to Human Resources.

It earned an amused look from the judge and whispers from the jury.

Derek simply pretended that Laura isn’t blood related to him.

They’re just a few feet to reaching Derek’s SUV at the outdoors car park when the paralegal from the opposing firm sneaks up on them, speaking in a mellowed voice as he ducks in front of them. “Mr and Ms Hale, we need to talk. In private. My client has decided to pull out from the case.”

Laura smiles shrewdly. “Your _client_ better be driving up a good bargain or I assure you we can drive his ass all the way with a new trial of long term emotional distress and, what was it, Der?” She looks at him then glares back at the paralegal with a cold stare. “Evidence tampering.”

Derek nods and tries to reign in the smugness that’s rolling off his skin. “Heard that you could get jailed for about ten years. Wouldn’t want that for the big boss now.”

The paralegal makes a pained smile, “Like I said. We should discuss this…in private.”

-

**(19:21)**  
 _Justice is served. Sorry it took so long. The opposing party had their tails wedged in between their legs._

**(19:24)  
** Congratulations, handsome! Going to pop the champagne tonight?

**(19:27)**  
 _Oh, I’m not done with you, Stiles. Think you’re getting off so easily?_

**(19:30)  
** I’ve been good for the past few hours! I think that brief stunt needs to be overlooked, don’t you think? I’m pretty sure that naughty Stiles has learnt his lessons.

**(19:38)**  
 _Hardly. I think you secretly loved every second I was in that court room. I bet you’re still so proud of yourself, aren’t you? Getting me hot and hard in an environment I can’t do anything? You soaked up in it, didn’t you?_

**(19:45)  
** Not the only thing that got soaked ;)  
 **(19:46)**  
Well, if it pleases you, consider this as an apology.

Derek rolls his eyes and taps open the picture that Stiles sent and a rush of breath just leaves him. He’s gaping at his screen, mouth already dry before he gulps thickly, taking in the image that’s burning into his retinas.

Stiles has on this simple brown jacket, probably leather considering that the light is bouncing off the material with a sleek sheeny look, and then nothing else. He probably had been wearing something below—long and covering the length of his legs because there’s a furious imprint of a band that sits at the low sling of his hips.

He looks mouth-watering and Derek wants to have him for dinner.

Stiles’ skin looks airbrushed, pale and supple with a blush that travels all the way down to his pubic mound before it dips down to his vagina, bruised with puffiness like he’s been playing with it for quite some time before the picture was taken.

His face tells it all though—slack-jawed and eyes a little dazed as though he’s still putting himself together after coming.

Derek feels his cock stirring in his pants again and quickly pulls down the zipper, palming himself.

**(19:51)**  
 _God, you look so good, Stiles._

**(19:53)  
** Do I get a picture of you too? A picture of your handsome face and your pretty cock?

Derek snorts because his cock is—yeah, his cock is anything but pretty. Stiles should know. He doesn’t groom himself because he inherited the hairiness from Charles making it almost impossible to not shave every twelve hours before it start looking unruly.

His cock nestles in a thick thatch of pubic hair, wiry and rough to the touch and he runs his fingers through them, the coarseness bristling against his touch until he grips the base of his cock and strokes up. He likes watching the way his foreskin stretches and covers the head, a dull thrill zinging under his balls when he does it.

Regardless, he tries to take a crotch picture—angling it correctly so that it captures his face too. There’s nothing better than pleasing Stiles, it’s the least he can do when the majority of his mind-blowing orgasms for the past few months have been _because_ of Stiles.

**(20:02)**  
 _Anything for you, my beautiful boy. Also, your pussy is prettier and your face—your body—makes me throb. You make me lose my mind._

**(20:08)  
** Jesus fuck, you just reached home and started to jack off without even taking off your clothes? Or do you just like teasing me, knowing that it’s my one kryptonite.

**(20:12)**  
 _Word on the street is that you like me in a suit._

**(20:15)  
** I want you to fuck me in a suit.

**(20:18)**  
 _You just want to grab on my tie as you ride me, don’t you? Pull me close against you while you fuck your tight, little cunt onto my cock._

**(20:20)  
** Wanna take you deep inside me until you know how much I really want you. God, I want you so much, Derek.

**(20:21)**  
 _Me too, Stiles. I’m so hard for you right now, so ready for you._

Derek is fisting his cock furiously, chasing an orgasm that’s been stewing since five hours ago as he turns his wrist at the end of each up-stroke, collecting the small pool of pre-come that’s dribbling out from his cock hole and slicking onto each shaft.

He gets lost with the constant momentum of his pleasure when Stiles replies him.

 **(20:23)  
** Wanna take you deep inside me until you know how much I really want you. God, I want you so much, Derek.

Derek lolls his head back, groaning at the punch the words Stiles said—meant. It leaves him gasping and bucking his hips higher into his fist, trying to replace the clammy yet dry strokes of his hand with the hot heat of Stiles that would swallow his cock.

It’ll be like sinking into refuge—wet and heavenly.

**(20:24)**  
 _Want you too. Want your moans in my ear. Want your pretty pussy to fuck me dry of come. Stiles._

**(20:27)  
** Please. Make me come, Derek. I want to come around your cock.

**(20:28)**  
 _Do it. Fuck yourself harder until you’re going to break and then scream my name._

**(20:28)  
** Derek. Derek. Derek. Derkeajk

**(20:29)**  
 _Fuck_

Derek’s balls tightens and he lets his phone drop beside him as he grips onto his cock with both hands, fucking into them like he’s ramming his dick into Stiles’ cunt. Fucking into that slick and wrecking that vagina for anyone else who wants to fuck Stiles and the thought of painting the velvet walls of his pussy with his come—that’s when his hips stutters.

“Oh fuck, fuck _fuck_ —”

His stomach bottoms out and he starts spurting, thick strings of white that paints onto his pubic hair and his heads while he groans himself hoarse, body quivering with each spurt.

He lies on his bed for a little while longer while he catches his breath, sweat pooling at the back of his legs and at the expanse of his back before it starts becoming too much then he shuffles into the bathroom to clean up.

There’s a new message on his phone when he returns.

 **(20:43)  
** Think it goes both ways when you say you’re losing your mind. Think I’m going crazy because of you too.

There’s another picture he sent and Derek opens it without any beat of hesitance. After it loads, Derek feels every resolve in him crumbles especially the tension that has been coiling inside him like turmoil from having one too many orgasms in the past few months. It leaves him satisfied, definitely, but with it comes a profound hollowness that he can’t explain.

Now, he can because it’s completely replaced with this—this picture, this new knowledge, epiphany, whatever.

The picture is grainy and in no terms well lit in comparison to the previous picture he received but it’s a simple profile shot of Stiles looking sleep-mused, a soft smile lingering at the corners of his lips while looking utterly reverent.

It makes him want to buy a plane ticket to California and get Stiles all the smooth peanut butter to indulge in, wants to bring him to a bad movie and make out with him at the back row before he brings him home and fuck him gently on his bed, wants to wake up with Stiles warmth beside him, kissing every mole he can find on his body before he slips down and lick him wet then soothe him dry.

He _wants_ —and Derek’s so fucking out of his league here, even Laura wouldn’t be able to help him.

So, instead he replies:

**(20:45)**  
 _You make me breathless._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohofgoho one more chapter to which i'll cross my fingers and hope I can finish by tomorrow ;)
> 
> sorry for... basically every mistake I've made but WOOOOOOO hope you guys love it and if you do, give me an xo  
> and btw, all you guys are real awesome with your comments (you're making me feel all loved, b'awwww) :p

Life continues, as usual (things that movies apparently don’t teach you), after Derek’s unexpected insight of his feelings in regards to Stiles.

He gets a promotion at work which makes him one of the three partners in the firm, with Laura, because apparently the big bosses really liked how he handled the case despite given squat and even congratulating him for how he handled the case despite even squat.

Laura most probably had put in a good word in his behalf, though. Whatever.

It was a good day, regardless. He even got to shake hands with one of the senior partners and that’s really surprising because the upper-heads never deliberately leave their offices on the sixth floor to congratulate any of the staff on the fourth. It’s kind of like an achievement.

Derek tells Stiles about it, with caps-lock to which he replies that he’s such a dork.

He likes being a dork for Stiles.

Scratch that. He likes being something important, _memorable_ to Stiles.

-

It’s three weeks and a little since they started texting when Stiles calls him for the first time on a Saturday.

-

Derek is tossing his keys into the key bowl as he steps into his apartment, brim with content after a nice dinner with Laura and her boyfriend, whom he can never seem to remember his name even though he has already met the guy more times he can count with both his hands.

He inches his blazer off, a soft smile on his face as he recalls Laura’s indignant reply when he tells her, embarrassed, to not do it which she snaps back, “Oh hush, Derek. No Hale dinner is officially done until a toast is made and someone ends up being thrown out.” Then she promptly spills her entire glass of wine down her dress.

They were politely asked to leave from the restaurant because of the ruckus Laura started making hence, why he’s home a little earlier than he expects.

Despite it all, he’s really happy for Laura. She’s settling down with a good man, one that makes her laugh more than he could ever tickle out from her but yet, something tugs at him that feels a lot like jealousy.

He wants what she has, not specifically her boyfriend but… maybe in the form of a twenty-four year old that has the most gorgeous smile and a nose that Derek finds himself constantly wanting to nip because he’s never seen any nose that adorable.

Yet, under all that pale skin is a total goofball that sends him daily good morning texts with a self-portrait picture of him still nuzzling into his pillow, eyes still crusty with sleep and it warms him from inside out, makes him feel good, a little less lonely and a whole lot more… _Stiles_.

Derek shakes his head, trying to keep his head away from things that has Stiles in the equation. His feelings have been coming on a little stronger recently, ever since the promotion, because he’s been so tied up with work that he hasn’t gotten much time to replying his texts and he’s a little terrified that if he wallows a little too long, it’ll all spill out of him.

Like word vomit.

He decidedly slides into his desk chair, loosening the knot of his tie and boots up his laptop. He wants to catch up a little on Stiles’ posting, ironic because he’s trying _not_ to think of Stiles, since he’s been lagging behind on the updates.

Derek can’t afford to lose his number one fan reputation just because of work.

That’s when his phone buzzes non-stop in his front pocket and a bubble of frustration churns low in his stomach. There are only two people who actually reaches his via call on his phone and that’s Laura—or Jackson.

However, Laura’s probably having lazy food stupor sex with his boyfriend (no, he’s not even going to think about the details) so it’s definitely—

“Fucking Jackson,” Derek hisses, arching his back so that he can slip his hand into the pocket. “Get a secretary, Derek, Laura says. They’ll help with your work load, she says. It’ll be great! Damn it.”

When he checks the caller id though, it’s not Jackson. It’s not even close to Jackson—it’s Stiles.

He eyes his phone warily, thinking of all the plausible things that Stiles might require from him that he’s actually dialling his phone. He comes up with nothing but Derek starts to internally freak out because _Stiles_ is calling him—they’re going to talk for the first time.

Not _the_ first time, but well, you get the idea.

He swipes his phone and slowly puts it against his ear, throat dry and heart thrumming in his chest.

“—Derek?” Stiles asks softly and he sounds tired, a little too careful and nothing like the collected guy Derek heard him speak on his live stream and that video he posted. “Did I catch you at a bad time? I know it’s a little sudden that I’m calling you and all.”

Derek clenches his hands and takes the plunge. “Hello Stiles. Nah, I just reached home, actually.”

There’s a sharp hitch of breath on the line and then he sounds breathless as he says, “H-hey! Oh—that’s good. I just… kind of missed you, that’s all. You haven’t replied my text since morning.”

Derek makes a noise through his nose. “Sorry…about that. I fell right asleep after I sent you that message and only woke up again when Laura called and asked me out for dinner.”

There’s a long pause before Stiles says thickly, “— _Laura?_ ”

“Yeah,” Derek answers and then is mortified when he remembers that he’s _never_ introduced her to Stiles before. “No! Uh, she’s my sister. Not—no, not my girlfriend or anything.”

“Oh,” He chuckles faintly. “Totally knew that. Well, even if she was your… girlfriend, that’ll be okay? I guess?”

“ _No_ ,” Derek grits. That’s on so many levels of not okay, like hitting the near thousands. How could Stiles think that it’s ‘okay’ if he jerks off to him on a regular daily basis _while_ having a girlfriend? Jesus. “That’s—It’s not. You know it’s not, Stiles.”

Stiles giggles and Derek wishes he could see how he looks when he does that. “Yeah, I know. They totally have to get in line behind me, though. Gotta compete against me for you.”

Derek feels his shoulders slowly easing away with tension, the stilted conversation between them finally picking up. “That so?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles hums and then murmurs into the receiver. “Told you that you make me crazy. Nobody else ever could—they gotta wait their turn with you.”

“It’s the same with you, you know?” Derek tells back quietly, hopes he’s not giving away too much and wishes that he doesn’t need to hold back all the same.

Then, a beat.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Derek gusts out, eyes closing tight as his mind flashes all the things that Stiles has admitted to him. How he likes his coffee just a little tad bitter because it leaves that after bite in his mouth after he’s done, or that he prefers sleeping on the left and he squeezes toothpaste from the center because he _can_. “Can’t stop thinking about you.”

There’s a scoffing sound over the line, fizzy. “In just a sexual manner, Derek?”

“More,” He admits, the heavy weight in his heart suddenly lifting with that very word. Of course then the word vomit happens because he’s _Derek_ and not at all of a Stiles. “So much more, god, Stiles. I don’t want what I feel to ruin… whatever we have, okay? If you don’t feel—”

“Oh my god,” Stiles snorts and he can almost see his eyes crinkling with that. “Shut up, you’re ruining the admission of your precious feelings for me. You’re such a dork. My dork.”

Derek grins, the smile stupidly spreading across his lips. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”

“Remember that, okay?”

“Okay.”

-

Stiles calls him every night and they talk for three hours before they both doze off and when he wakes up in the morning, phone sticking against his cheek from the mesh of drool and sweat, he smiles when he sees that the call hasn’t ended and he can hear a soft snore and through the line.

-

“— _Derek_.”

\-- _Jesus Christ, don’t stop.”_

Derek drowsily rouses from his sleep, head heavy as he pushes his face off the pillow. He’s blinking away the crustiness of sleep, adjusting them to the light filter of sunlight through his windows when he hears the tinny of a voice, panting and hoarse, from his phone.

“— _Yeah. Fuck, like that.”_

Derek picks it up with uncoordinated fingers (they never seem to work right in the mornings, thinks maybe its old age) and puts it against his ear. He hears the wet sounds of breath being puffed out and the noisy rustling of sheets when Stiles’ voice comes clear again.

_“—God, Derek, right there.”_

“Stiles?” He squeaks, well, more like croaks.

The entire line goes dead except the heavy labouring of breaths that continues to linger through the call then he hears more movements and a softly uttered curse.

“Derek?” Stiles pants and he sounds wrecked. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

Derek stretches his legs out, peeking them out of the covers, grumbling with pleasure when the knots in his back pop. “Nah, was about to wake up anyway. What were you doing?”

“Oh—uh,” Stiles starts, tone dripping with guilt and he can almost picture how that blush would run all over his body, making his skin pink with embarrassment. “Er, well, I had a dream, wet dream, about you and I… woke up humping against my fingers?”

The image of Stiles on the other side, pressing his fingers into the dip of his pubic mound, cupping his palm with his sex and then slurring Derek’s name in his sleep—that has his morning wood completely pitched in his pyjamas pants.

Well, that’s a new kink he never knew he had.

“How—how long?” Derek nudges his pants off his legs, grunting with the rugged movements from just waking up, until he’s just in his shirt, cock jutting out in a nest of pubes and curving against the line of his thigh.

“A while,” Stiles grunts out, probably starting to work his fingers in between him again because he starts making these soft gasping sounds through the line. “M’ so wet, can feel it dripping down to my ass but…I can’t—come.” He whines. “No matter what I do.”

Derek smirks, running his fingers against his cock, watching it twitch under his hands before he grips it, pulling it down from the base so that his head stretches out from the foreskin. “Need some help?”

“Yes, _god_ , yes please. Missed this. Missed you.”

“It’s been like—what?” Derek asks, voice going a little gruff. “More than a week of you not touching that pink, pretty pussy of yours? Is that why you’re so wet, Stiles? So turned on from not being able to come because I wasn’t there to help you?”

“ _Yeah_ —” He whimpers painfully. “Derek, please.”

“It’s okay,” Derek groans, bucking his hips up while his cock thrusts up into his fist. “I’ve got you. Gonna touch you all over until you’re shaking. Until you’re right at the edge. That’s what you want, Stiles? For me to break you?”

“All of it,” Stiles answers enthusiastically, moaning, the light squelch of his cunt ringing through the phone. “Been fucking myself on two fingers—want your cock, Derek. Want you to fuck me— _take me_ —until I come all over that nice, fat cock of yours.”

“God, you’ve got a mouth.” Derek clenches his eyes shut, feeling the pulsing throb of his cock as the blood rushes to his crotch, making him _harder_. “Would push you against the wall and slam my cock inside you—you’d like that? You’ll be a whining mess and I won’t let you go. Never let you go. That sweet pussy of yours is gonna get creamed by my cock. Leave a thick load inside you. Do you want that, Stiles? Having my come inside you?”

“Never hated condoms so much in my life.” Stiles sobs out, wet and hoarse, the sound of a bed creaking from the background filtering in. “Shoot it deep inside me. You could even plug it up inside me, have it dripping out of my pussy slowly the entire day until you give me another load later at night.”

“Jesus, oh fuck.” Derek grunts, licking a lone line against his palm before he wraps it around his cock, working it faster. “You’ll be so full by then—swelling, pussy bruised with my fucking. God, I want you. Want you so much.”

“Opening myself up with three fingers right now,” Stiles says and he’s making a gargle of noises, loudly exhaling through his nose. “I’m so tight, Derek. Can you feel it?”

Derek tightens his grip, trying to imagine the walls of Stiles’ cunt swallowing around his cock, adjusting and then clenching as he slowly fucks him. He wants to sob out how much he wants to be beside Stiles now—to be there and to _show_ him how much he wants him. How _hard_ his cock is for Stiles.

“Not gonna last, babe.” Derek growls, the low coil of pleasure tightening under his abdomen and below his balls. “Got a whole week of come inside me for you.”

“Fuck me—and don’t stop.” Stiles whines and then he’s panting out. “Don’t fucking stop. Rub my clit and fuck my pussy until I’m _wrecked_.”

Derek does, he fucks his cock tight into his fist and thrusts his hips up, meeting each movement with a stroke until he hears this wet gasp from Stiles—loud and ringing through the receiver—then he fucking loses it, coming all over his hand, thick spurts that’s exploding out from his cock hole.

He’s milking his cock, the pleasure waves crashing into his body endlessly until his ears start to buzz, lips getting little pin-pricks when finally the last throbs from his cock splash weakly against his hip. He takes a large wheezing breath, trying to catch his heart from hammering out from his chest when he hears Stiles coming through the line—soft and high.

Derek waits it out, hears when Stiles starts taking in large breaths of air like he just finished a race until it slowly ebbs out evenly before he goes to clean up.

-

When he returns, Stiles already has the call ended but there are two new messages on his screen.

 **(08:23)**  
Too embarrassed to say this because I’ll be in my post-orgasm high. __  
 **(08:24)**  
I’ve been meaning to visit New York. You play the biggest factor in that though so…think you’ll want me there, handsome?

Derek drops his phone on the floor, hey, he has post-orgasm reflexes—it’s allowed and then he taps out a reply after he’s stared at it for another five more minutes, unbelieving.

**(08:42)**   
_Yes. Do you even need to ask? I’ll even pick you up at the airport. Fuck. I’ll even hold a fucking signboard with ‘This is your dork’ so you could see me from a crowd. Fucking hell, Stiles. Yes. All the yes-es in the world._

**(08:50)**  
So… it’s a yes? Like a definitive yes?

Derek snorts and finds himself liking Stiles even _more_ —which isn’t possible because he’s pretty sure he could feed a continent with his affection for Stiles.

**(08:51)**   
_Yes, in any—every way I can have you._


	6. Chapter 6

There’s another thing about life that Derek learns, which movies or books never actually teaches anyone, is that sometimes shit doesn’t work out the way you want or need it to in real life.

Stiles has worked out to fly in to New York in two weeks’ time however his entire calendar for the month is filled up with pending cases, all stacked in an orderly manner that makes his head spin. Also, there are clients on a waiting list.

For him.

Derek never had a waiting list before. He assumes it’s due to the big win from the corporate trial that led to this. Although, ironically that it was with Laura’s help that he even managed to close the trial. The most he did was get an inappropriate boner in court—and freaking out about the case.

On those long days where he’s stuck in the office with Chinese take-outs for every meal, he sometimes wonders if it was a bad move on his part in requesting for her assistance. He’s getting these thoughts more frequently too.

When Derek goes to tell Stiles about the bad news, hands shaking and voice soft as he calls him, he’ll never forget that large hitch of breath that Stiles take and the dip of his voice when he says, “ _Oh_.” Like he’s trying to shove away any underlying emotions and not be that angry, selfish person Derek wishes him to be so he could feel less like guilt.

Stiles says, “That’s fine. We’ll plan again?” and ends the call promptly.

-

They don’t talk for three days and Derek misses him so fiercely that it dampens his mood wholly. He turns up at work with an un-pressed top, scowls at everyone that approaches him until Jackson tells him to lay off the caffeine and suggests that they hit happy hour at the street corner bar.

He remembers why he hired Jackson.

-

When he goes home, drunk and skin clammy with liquor sweat, his phone buzzes and it’s Stiles.

He answers the call with a slurred voice, hiccupping through his words. “Don’t—don’t do that to me again, Stiles. I can’t—you’re everything. Do you understand? You’re _everything._ Fuck.”

Stiles apologises, voice wrecked and wet, and answers, “ _I know_ , Derek. I know now.”

That’s the first time Derek cries in a long time, choking on phlegm and snot. The last time he did was when Laura and he left his parents back in a small town outside of California for the big city. Wait—Stiles _lives_ in California.

Okay.

Sometimes life works out like a movie—rare, but it happens.

-

Laura teases him when he tells her about Stiles, not the raunchy details but the rest, then promptly scuffs him on the head and calls him out for becoming an even _bigger_ drama queen. She then forces him to buy a ticket for her because she wants to meet Stiles.

He’s mildly terrified.

-

Derek manages to take a week off from work, calls it a personal time out which Laura requested on both their behalves two months prior. He feels his body thrumming with excitement when he buys a pair of plane tickets on October which sets to leave in December.

-

A couple of days before he leaves, Derek pulls out his phone to inform Stiles that he’s going to be away for a week to visit his parents back in his hometown for Christmas. A large wave of déjà vu hits him when he starts to dial his number on memory and he almost gags out his lunch.

He perseveres, though.

The line goes quiet again after Derek explains—a pregnant heart-breaking silence that he starts to regret on ever making those plans when Stiles sighs out sombrely, a clear resignation in his voice when he says, “Text me when you land, yeah?”

“I will.” Derek assures and he wants to fucking break. Wants to tell him that he’s going to give the damn world to Stiles, to never use that tone on him again because he’s trying to make it up for all the bullshit he’s made Stiles endure. Instead he swallows all of them and settles with, “I’ll miss you.”

-

Derek visits all the private studios in California. Well, the ones that are being listed on Google anyway. He’s at the brimming edge of frustration, a steady queasiness settling heavy in his stomach from hopping into several cabs to get from one place to another.

That’s when he lands on number six.

He’s taking a peek through the window when he chokes on an inhale after he sees Stiles inside, limbs flailing around so vibrantly that he has to close his eyes for a while to not burst inside and steal him away. Laura would just _peak_ with all the mocking if that happens.

Stiles is wearing a worn-in hoodie that’s faded into a dull rusty colour and plain skinnies that wrap around his thighs and calves immaculately. He’s nothing like how he looks in the pictures or scant minutes of videos—it’s _more_. More everything.

His hair is carefully styled like he just got done with a shoot but Derek knows it’s just the way he does it normally, with a small pinch of hair wax and long fingers twisting and scrunching them up and those moles. They’re prominent on his face, stark unlike on the pictures and it pairs so beautifully with that flush on his cheeks.

Derek pushes open the glass door, palms sweaty with nerves and his heart jittering in his chest like he’s about to have a cardiac arrest and that’s when Stiles looks up because of the little bell that jingles his introduction.

His mouth _drops_.

“— _Derek?_ ”

Derek tries to crack a smile but the muscles in his lips are twitching furiously, body shaking while his pits are already sweating under the thin cotton Henley he’s wearing and _god_ , his knees are going to buckle because— _because_ he’s finally meeting Stiles, going to touch, smell and _hold_ him for the first time and it’s so fucking _overwhelming._

“Oh my god, you son of a mother—”

Then Stiles slams his entire body against him, wrapping his legs around his hips and fucking _hugs_ the shit out of him. Derek’s quick to respond from the impact, fisting his hands into the back of his hoodie and one arm curling to his waist, holding him up and presses his noses against his neck, inhaling shakily.

“Fuck, you’re _real_.” Derek croaks wetly, nuzzling further into that warmth while feeling the faint thudding of Stiles’ heartbeat pressing against his cheek. He’s taking in large breaths as though he just got drowned and just takes everything Stiles is giving.

Stiles smells like strong coffee and a saccharine smell of body wash but under all that—it’s him. A little mix of baby powder and sweat and Derek wants to inhale all of it until his lungs _burst_ from trying.

“I can’t believe it. You’re _here_.” Stiles gasps and clutches on to him tighter, peppering jerky chaste kisses at the side of his neck, against his shoulder. “Jesus. What the fuck are you doing here! You fucking _asshole!_ I thought you were visiting your parents—and how did you find me?!”

Derek’s riding a Stiles induced adrenaline high and he chokes out a reply. “They live in California. Just outside. Also, google.”

Someone clears their throat loudly.

“Uh, Stiles?”

Derek peers up from where he’s hiding his face behind Stiles’ jaw and sees this boy who has unruly hair and eyes so bright they almost twinkle under the fluorescent light. “It’s very… notebook and all but like, seriously. We may do porn but we don’t advertise it in broad daylight.”

“I’ll advertise your face in broad daylight if you don’t just give me five more minutes with Derek.” Stiles mumbles out and he feels fingers twisting into the hair at his nape, nails lightly digging into his scalp.

 “That’s _Derek?_ ”

“Yes, now evaporate. Please.”

“Dude, hey.” The guy starts awkwardly and waves a hand at Derek, grinning, which he returns with a weird finger wave since he’s still holding Stiles up. “Stiles only showed me your dick pictures because—”

“Dude! Scott!” Stiles exclaims, jerking around in his arms. “Shut up!”

Derek huffs out a wet laughter against the side of Stiles’ neck, amused. “You show my dick to all your friends?”

“Nah,” Stiles says and he sounds like he’s grinning. “Just him. People need to recognize the beauty and brilliance of your cock. Which I should be sitting on. Right now.”

“Later.” Derek tells. “We’ve got time.”

“Uh… I’m still right here?” Scott grumbles out.

Stiles snorts, “Eviscerate, peasant.”

He watches Scott cross his arms, pouting as he storms into the backroom, yelling, “You’re not the boss of me, Stilinski. Watch out.”

Derek laughs and holds onto Stiles a little longer.

-

Stiles slams him against the wall of the lift when they get in and puts his mouth back onto his neck again, mouthing wetly while making obscene smacking noises with his tongue. He feels a faint scraping of teeth against the bruised skin and that makes Derek clench his fingers into the hem of Stiles’ hoodie, inches his neck back a little.

He’s so hard that there’s going to be a zipper imprint on his cock.

“God—your _mouth_. Oh, fuck, Stiles.”

Stiles hums approvingly and wedges his leg in between Derek, nudging at it insistently until he’s got a nice momentum going where he’s rutting against the base of his cock and the tenderness of his balls. He can feel the heat coming off Stiles against his thigh—moist with sweat and slick—as he rides against his leg.

“Jesus—if you don’t stop, we’re going to end up fucking in this lift when your apartment’s just a couple feet away.”

“Don’t care.” Stiles murmurs, hands roaming around his sides when finally the lift jerks to a stop, beeping at the ninth floor.

“C’mon,” Derek wheezes out, placing his hands onto Stiles’ hips to still him. “I wanna eat you out on your bed. Been thinking about it ever since I saw your pussy the first time. Please, Stiles.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles gusts out, warm breath fanning across Derek’s face and when he finally looks at him, his lips are swollen and kiss bruised like he’s been making out for way too many hours. Which they did. God, he’s been hard for _hours_.  “Alright. Okay, I’m sold. Let’s go.”

They stumble out of the lift, arousal heady in their blood and Derek snorts when Stiles starts to jingle his keys, waggling his eyebrows as he approaches his apartment door. He’s fiddling with the lock, taking his own sweet damn time when Derek grows impatient, growling and then lines his body against Stiles’ back.

Derek presses him back into his chest, feels the hard line of his cock in his pants digging in the curve of his ass. He cups one hand against Stiles’ sex, palming intently at it while he bucks up, choking out a groan when he feels the pressure against his dick—relieving and good.

“The longer you take, babe—” He whispers hotly into his ear. “—the less time I’m going to spend eating you out. And I want to fuck you so badly right now.”

He feels Stiles shivers against him when finally the key clicks. Stiles makes a satisfied noise and Derek tugs Stiles in, pulling his shirt off while prying his shoes off with the back of his heel. Stiles’ doing the same, unzipping his jeans while tossing his hoodie away in jerky movements.

Derek’s just down to his brief, slick cock head sticking out of the waistband when he sees Stiles naked in the living hall from his peripheral. His skin is illuminating, cascading off the moonlight and the air gets punched out of him.

He strides up to him, watches the hot, heavy gaze from Stiles tracking him as he cups his face, hooking his thumbs under his jaw as he leans in and kisses him. It’s soft, gentle—everything that he wants to say built up in it and Stiles returns it, slings both arms around his neck, pulling him in.

Stiles’ tongue licks into the seams of his lips, urging in and then dances fluidly against his own. The smack of saliva as it dribbles down their chins and their laboured breaths start to fill the buzzing in Derek’s ears.

“You’re everything, Stiles.” He says hoarsely when Stiles finally breaks the kiss.

“And you drive me crazy.” Stiles returns. It’s like their code—their expression for that cliché overused three words that Derek knows both of them won’t ever find the need to use because this? It’s theirs, better, more profound than the meaningless telling of I love you.

Stiles leads him to the bedroom, fingers twining with his.

Derek steps out of his briefs, lets it fall onto the ground from his hands then climbs onto the bed where Stiles is already lying in it, looking at him with dark eyes. He crawls on top of him, leans forward a little to pepper chaste kisses against his collar bone until his nipple.

He flicks his tongue out, eyes still on Stiles’ face as he tentatively licks it. Stiles’ breath hitches, eyes widening a little as he watches. He sucks the hard nub into his mouth, lapping onto it until Stiles is keening out his name, fisting a hand into Derek’s hair.

Derek smirks, “You wet for me, Stiles?”

“ _Yeah_ —” Stiles gulps, eyes wet with pleasure. “Because of you. You know my body so well, Derek. Know just where to touch me, where to kiss me.”

Derek hums, smiling fondly at Stiles while he slithers a hand over the taunt muscles of his abdomen, scratching faintly against it that earns a low rumble out of Stiles until he grazes against the smooth roughness of Stiles’ pubic mound, dark grains peppering around the skin.

“Love it when you don’t shave.” Derek admits because he really does. Although the sight of a nicely waxed pussy makes it easier to jerk off to but when he gets to feel it against his fingertips—the way it ribs and scratches against his face when he’s going to fuck someone’s cunt with his tongue—that’s what gets him really turned on.

Stiles makes an embarrassed noise through his nose and presses the side of his face into the pillow.

“Hey, don’t.” Derek says softly, kissing him on his stomach that earns a twitch from Stiles’ leg. “Want you to look at me when I do this. Want you to know who’s going to make you come.”

Stiles turns his head back and gazes down at Derek, face only inches away from his vagina. It’s better here—the scent of his arousal, musky and tinged with the salty sweet bite of sweat and it makes him want to stuff his face in between those thighs and _breathe_ so wholly.

Derek inches his legs apart so that he’s got enough space to slide in between and then hooks his arms around his thighs, pressing his cheek against the soft fleshiness of them. Then he dips his head down and presses a kiss just right center of Stiles’ cunt, earning him a wet gasp.

“Derek, I—”

“Shh,” Derek says calmly. “Let me take care of you.”

Stiles relaxes after that, the bubble of tension leaves immediately in his body as he sinks down into the mattress and Derek takes that as his go ahead so he captures Stiles’ clit into his mouth and starts to suckle on it gently.

The taste of his pussy hits him headily—savoury and slick on his tongue like an exotic spice he’s never tried before but loves it already and he mouths harder, licking at his labia before he teases down, gathering the moisture at his entrance and slurping into it.

“Fuck, you taste heavenly. Sweet little cunt.” Derek tells and he sounds so fucking _wrecked_. His hips started making subconscious humping against the mattress, the building pressure already too high for him to still them. “Could eat you out for hours.”

“You’re so good to me.” Stiles moans and the words sound slurred, high-pitched, like his voice kind of does whenever he’s almost there with an orgasm.

Derek groans when he feels a fresh ooze of pre-come leaking against the sheets, making the rough jerks of his hips smoother, slicked and then he dives back into Stiles’ pussy, eats him out with heavy pants. He uses one hand to spread Stiles’ lips apart, and flattens his tongue against the velvet hot folds, trying to store the taste of him forever in his mouth.

“Fuck— _fuck me_ , _Derek_. God, do it.” Stiles pleads and he sounds almost delirious, hair messy and face blushing with arousal. “I’m so wet you don’t even need to prepare me— _god_. Just slide it in there, feel how tight my pussy is for you.”

“Jesus, damn it.” Derek clenches his eyes shut and abruptly stops his hips—he almost lost it there and then. “But you haven’t come yet! I wanted—”

“Derek,” He mewls, urging him up with shaking hands. “I might combust if you don’t fuck me right now. I’ve waited for—months. Months, please. Oh god, we can do the rest later. I need your cock to _ruin_ me.”

Derek inhales sharply, pressing his face into the warmth of Stiles’ neck, trying his best not to fucking come all over Stiles before he even goes inside him. “I won’t last long—fuck. That sounded really high school but Christ, Stiles. You make me… I can’t even use words to explain. I don’t even have enough blood in my brain to use words.”

“Then, stop talking, you dork.” Stiles snorts and then brackets his legs around Derek, presses a kiss against his neck, whispering. “Make me yours, handsome.”

Derek’s entire body breaks out into a tremor, fisting himself at the base of his cock and holding in the orgasm that’s nearing. He lines his cock head against Stiles’ cunt, rubs small circles at his clit until Stiles huffs at him then he gathers slick at his entrance before he inches in.

“Fuck. Oh fuck—” Stiles chokes.

Derek’s still gripping himself tight as he slowly sinks into Stiles. His cunt swallows him so fully like a furnace, like nothing he fucking imagined before—tight and wet and velvet soft as it envelops his cock like a glove.

His cock throbs painfully when he’s balls deep in Stiles and he expels the lungful of breath he’s holding, hovering above Stiles without moving for a couple of seconds until the tension that’s coiling tight in his abdomen loosens and spreads.

“So—so full, Derek. Your dick—can feel it in my stomach, oh my god.”

Derek slowly slides out, choking at the way his cock squelches obscenely before he sharply thrusts it back in, a loud moan being punched out from Stiles, hands scrabbling onto his shoulders. He slams his mouth onto Stiles, swallowing his moan into him as he starts to furiously fuck his cock, chasing that cunt he’s been dreaming—fantasizing for months.

He feels so at whole with Stiles—connected.

Derek inches the hand that’s squashed between his body and starts to rub at Stiles’ clit, fingers sticky and wet with his lubrication until he’s gotten a concise momentum going. He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize that Stiles shouted his name and then he feels the walls of his vagina clamping up around his cock, clenching with each convulsion.

He clenches his eyes shut, thrusting his cock furiously into his pussy until his hips stutter, balls tightening and his stomach bottoms out then he comes—spurting his load deep inside Stiles, painting the insides with the heat of his semen.

“Oh shit—oh fuck _, Stiles!_ ”

Derek’s gasping wetly into Stiles’ throat, trying to even out his heart that’s still pacing in his chest when he feels fingers sliding into the wetness of his hair, all slicked with sweat and feels the soft presses of lips against his forehead.

“Drives me crazy, Derek.”

Derek holds him closer, never even wants to let go of him—doesn’t even want his cock to leave Stiles’ pussy even though it’s already softening, oversensitivity biting at his foreskin. “You’re my everything.”

-

When Derek drives Stiles up to Beacon Hills to where his parents and Laura are staying at their old family house, they welcome him into the family even though he hasn’t even introduced them to Stiles before.

He glares at Laura who smirks back at him before she sidles up against Stiles. “Well, it’s good to see that you and my brother finally solved the long distance UST. He was just about an inch away to winning the Oscars for Most Dramatic Actress.”

Stiles snorts and Derek drops his head, wondering why he has the pleasure of having the _worst_ sister in the world.

-

A year later, Derek proposes—for Stiles to move to New York with him.

Stiles screams yes down the phone then seconds later, “Wait—Scott is in this package. You _do_ know that right? Bros before boners, man.”

Derek groans.

-

He isn’t the least bit ashamed of his porn collection. He’s actually quite proud of it.

Because that’s where he got to know Stiles and—yeah, that man? Is his fucking _everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE OH MY GOD I ACTUALLY FINISHED THIS FIC IN A WEEK CRIES HAPPY ENDING FOR YOU AND YOU AND YOU
> 
> YOU GO, STEREK  
> (fuck the canon angsty ways, mine is filled with lovely, lOVELY smut and fluff)

**Author's Note:**

> warning: there's actually no plot, like it really doesn't. the lawyer shindig derek is doing totally has no link to anything. i just like the idea of derek as a lawyer *u*  
> also unbeta'd but i've read through most of it, i guess. idk. porn makes my head spin
> 
> yes, also i know it's a wip but i have full intent on finishing it before teen wolf starts :*  
> and if i don't, well, you can tie me up and deny me of orgasms  
> xoxo
> 
> p.s/ i may have taken inspiration from a glee/klaine gkm prompt but i'm not following it to a tee *u*


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